dy," Margaret said. "You must
have felt his death terribly."

Margaret's words were conventional, but Hadassah did not miss the
sympathy and feeling which lay underneath them.

"I did," Hadassah said. "But the boy would never have been happy--he
was one of the pitiful instances you meet in Egypt; of misguided
idealists. Girgis had a fine character, but he was fastened upon
because of his wealth by the wrong set of the Nationalist party, who
misled him and then turned on him and killed him because he wouldn't go
as far as they wanted him to go in their horrible outrages. It was a
pitiful story, greatly distorted and misinterpreted by the press."

"His death was splendid," Margaret said. "It wiped out all the
rest--it proved his real worth."

"Yes," Hadassah said. "Poor Girgis died a hero's death. He was as
brave as a lion. But come," she said, "let me hear your news. These
things we are talking about are ancient history to everybody but
myself, and I never think of them if I can help it. It is better not."
She sighed reflectively. "Dear Girgis knows that I can never forget
him. He gave me all his fierce young love at a time when it was very
precious."

"Ignorance was at the bottom of it all," Margaret said. She was
alluding to the behaviour of the British residents in Cairo in respect
to Hadassah's marriage. Hadassah understood.

"I have learned to know and realize that," she said. "And, after all,
one must pity ignorance. I have got so far that I can actually feel
sorry for such narrow minds. As for Michael, he never gave it a
thought. If our characters are widened through suffering, I have
gained--they have lost. Something fine always leaves our natures when
we do or think unkind things--nothing is truer or surer than that."

"Michael always says the same thing," Margaret said eagerly. "He
thinks unkind thoughts and uncharitable acts--want of love, in
fact--the unpardonable sins."

"Both our men have the same name." Hadassah's eyes smiled. "I like
your man so much, if I may say so. He is worth a great deal. We can't
expect big things to come to us in a small, mediocre way, can we?"

"I am so glad you like him," Margaret said. "And you believe in him?
Your husband believes in him, in his . . ." she hesitated ". . .
unpractical mind?" Hadassah's understanding and gentleness made her
feel childishly weak. It would have been a relief to give way to
weeping. Her nerves were at the poin